Twenty years ago, the neighborhood I was raised in was fairly red, but people weren’t as insecure about their conservatism as they are now. So it was a bit of a surprise when I started seeing a pickup truck with a full size confederate flag flying off the back driving around.
When I was a teen, my parents moved to the west side of Hillsboro, Oregon. It used to be all farmland but now it’s an exburb on the way to the coast from Portland, sitting in the northwest corner of the stunning Willamette Valley. It’s not precisely Trump country, it’s deep purple, but you still see the big trucks owned by people who think patriotism is a personality.
Photo by Elena
But at this time, decades ago, seeing confederate flags flying off the backs of trucks was not normal. After all, Oregon was never a part of the Confederacy. This particular truck was clearly full of teenagers, and I recognized that pushing buttons and being obnoxious is part of that journey.
The second time I saw the teens with that truck, I was on my way home from work. It had clearly died on the side of the road and the teens were trying to get it going again. I immediately pulled over and asked if they needed help.
“Do you know how to pop the clutch?”
“Sure!” I parked, jumped out and climbed into the driver’s seat. Of a truck with a confederate flag flying off the back. Two of the boys started pushing the truck, I dropped the clutch, and the engine started back up. I braked, put the truck in park, and hopped out.
“Have a good day!” I called as I got back into my car.
“Thanks, you too!”
In my head, I thought maybe seeing Black people being helpful could change those kids’ minds about white supremacy. In retrospect, that seems pretty naive, but I’m still glad that I helped those kids.
When Trump rolled down that escalator, on June 16th, 2015, I knew he was going to win. Or at least, I immediately worried that he would win. That moment felt like a dividing line in my life. It wasn’t until after Trump showed up that I started experiencing racism from complete strangers. It no longer felt safe to be myself in public, especially with my kids. I started engaging in hyper vigilance. There were places in my own city that I would no longer go. Since that moment, I’ve been menaced, spit at, cursed at in my daily life for the crime of existing in proximity to whiteness and believing myself to be an equal. Never mind my experiences online.
The summer before the 2016 election was fraught because of how white people had started behaving toward me. It was in this cultural moment that someone in my neighborhood put a full size confederate flag on the back of their truck. I saw them everywhere, but never in a place where I could engage. I have absolutely NO idea why - probably because Obama was still president ;) - I decided I was going to confront this old white guy.
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